<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Iron Solitude by Melkwhore</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25653670">Iron Solitude</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melkwhore/pseuds/Melkwhore'>Melkwhore</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angband, Angbang fluff, First Age, Fluff, Gen, Lonesome Mairon, M/M, Nethermost Hall, Other, Silm fluff, Soft Melkor, Tagged m/m but gender isn't real, Utumno, angbang, extreme softness, gratuitous fluff, only soft, possible imperfect lore, slight au i guess, timeline bastardization</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:14:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,671</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25653670</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melkwhore/pseuds/Melkwhore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sauron has been alone in Angband for a long while, and without proper challenge or stimulation that beautiful mind has become self-destructive. He yearns for Melkor's presence more fervently than ever, and yet his Lord does not return. </p><p>Until one night.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor &amp; Sauron | Mairon, Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Half a millennium. </p><p>The halls of Angband had been woefully quiet for nearly half a millennium, and still it seemed to echo with the resounding laughter of its long-absent Lord. The floors were loud with the clacking of fat orcish feet running amok, completing their chores for fear of displeasing the resident tyrant of the citadel, but without the Enemy’s presence even the clatter of armor and the grunting of undignified corrupted elves was nothing more than an ambient hum. The Nethermost Hall was kept pristine, and Sauron personally inspected the vast Hall daily to ensure it would be ready to seat Melkor at a moment’s notice. He busied the kitchen servants by organizing a celebratory feast each day, just in case, and ordered all of the food to be burned as soon as it became obvious that Melkor would not be returning. None of the slaves around the fortress could partake in the thwarted feast or consume the leftovers. These were the delicacies that only the Ainur would get to enjoy, regardless of the unnecessity of physical sustenance. This cycle continued daily for hundreds of years, and such a shrewd mind as Sauron’s became restless and pained in the absence of the object of his affections.</p><p>Sauron had grown weary of spending his evenings alone. This night was not unlike any of the others: the flame-haired Maia alternated between pacing aimlessly around his bedchamber and perching like a vigilant hawk on the edge of the dark chair that constantly sat in front of the north-facing windows in the last remaining tower of Angband, in the direction of Melkor’s Northern fortress. To keep his fiery locks from his face, he tied them up in a neat but loose bun at the top of his head, a ritual that had soothed him since his days working Aulë’s forge. He wore a thin silken robe draped luxuriously over his body, which had grown thin with worry, and the robe's narrow border of fur around the edges gently tickled the backs of his knees as he walked. That touch used to be welcome, an indication of luxury and relaxation, but now it had become abrasive and irritating as thousands of tickling spider legs reminding him of the solitude that hung heavy over Angband. </p><p>Without its Lord or its former forest of spires, towers, and smoking chimneys, the fortress was a shadow of its former glory. The Battle of the Powers had separated the two dark Ainur from each other and decimated the superterranean structures that made Angband so foreboding. Sauron, in order to occupy himself until he received orders —he would take anything from Melkor at this point, even insults— continually orchestrated rebuilding efforts and set the enslaved forces to work cleaning up the wreckage to restore the stronghold to the greatness it held when Melkor created it. These tasks were helpful, doubtlessly a good distraction, but not even a sleepless Maia could work all hours of the day. He retired to his chambers each night to sleep as if it was a possibility, and left each morning with another failure under the belt of his robe. </p><p>Sauron’s Eye missed nothing outside of the citadel, noting every movement of wild creatures that skittered anywhere remotely close to the gates and every cloud of dust that traveled on the occasional volcanic breeze. His gaze never caught any indication of his Master. Sometimes, Sauron would squeeze his eyes shut and reach out to Melkor with his Fëa as if to touch him and call out for his return, but there was no contact. Melkor’s power to communicate with his Maia was more powerful and traveled further, and unfortunately the effort was not able to reach as far in the reverse direction. </p><p>Frustrated and on the verge of lonesome tears, Sauron stood from the chair and threw himself onto the vast bed on the Eastern wall of the room. He spread his arms and legs as far as they would go across the mattress and found himself still unable to reach the edges or to take up any meaningful amount of space. One hand reached to his head to unpin the halo of hair that eagerly spread across the pillows as if to assist in his effort to take up space, but even this was moot in the grand scheme. There seemed to be no solution that would help Melkor’s Lieutenant to feel like he belonged in that bed, in that tower, in that fortress. Without Melkor beside him to take up that space, everything felt so hopelessly and completely empty. The rest of Arda knew the dark Vala as a cold, calculating monster who worked for his own purposes and pleasure, damning anyone else in the process. This much was true, but Sauron saw so much more of him. He knew the roaring laughter that thundered from Melkor’s center when he thoroughly enjoyed himself and the near-invisible tears that gathered in the corner of his onyx eyes when the laughter tried to overtake him. He knew the comfort and safety that accompanied his long, broad body as it lay down to rest beside Sauron’s own in that colossal bed. He knew the laborious procedures that the Vala had taken to create these bedchambers specifically to Sauron’s liking, knowing that his own preferences were unspecific and that the aesthetics of the room would delight the meticulous Eye that surveyed the ceiling of that very chamber. The golden-eyed being let his lids flutter shut, wishing more than anything that he could dream his Lord into existence: but, even then, he could never seem to dream anymore anyway. </p><p>At some point during the night, Sauron finally found solace and drifted off to sleep. He turned onto his side, habitually wrapping his arms around the last of the pillows that still held a remainder of Melkor’s metallic-charcoal scent. The orcish servant who constantly stood guard in the bedchamber remained near the entrance to the room in a deathly-still posture, afraid that any minute clinking of his armor would wake the sleeping Lieutenant. He had made that mistake before and been met with a sharp, solid ball of flame in his face. </p><p>The night passed without incident, excluding anxious breaths and close calls from the servant. Mornings in the Iron Mountains were not significantly lighter than the nights, but the air always shifted from a tired, ashen atmosphere into a brighter sensation tipped with fresh dew. The bustle of workers indicated that the citadel was waking, as well, and it was this sound that woke the acute ears of the Maia. He hadn’t realized that he had fallen asleep, but once the realization hit he squeezed his pillow tighter and kept his eyes closed just a bit longer to savor the sensation. There had been no dream in that fiery head; only he blissful darkness of rest. Sauron broke that darkness by cautiously opening his eyes and letting them lazily bring the room into focus. All was as he left it: a burning candle on the side table, the pillow clutched in his pale hands, the dark slumbering body beside him—</p><p>Sauron gasped loudly and snapped to attention, at first in fear. He sat up with the pillow still clutched to his chest as his defense systems assessed the situation. There certainly hadn’t been anyone beside him when he had fallen asleep, and yet, here, unmistakably...</p><p>“Melkor?” </p><p>Sauron’s voice croaked with morning and incredulity. One hand reached out in an attempt to ascertain that the creature beside him was no mirage, but held it back. If this was an illusion, it was a beautiful one. Perfectly executed. He stared in wonder at the hard lines of Melkor’s jaw, the curve along his Adam’s apple, the firm planes of his face that seemed to be pulled straight from stone. He watched the breath flow easily between those lips he had yearned so much for, each exhale puffing a strand of raven-black hair away from his Vala’s face and every inhale drawing it back. </p><p>Sauron spoke the name again, this time reaching forward to touch the bare chest of the sleeping Vala. He was real. He was warm and present and breathing and real. The touch pulled Melkor’s attention and he let an eye open, lifting immediately and instinctively to meet his companion’s face. Sauron felt his stomach flutter as if that look had suddenly awoken hundreds of bats living within him.  </p><p>“Mairon,” Melkor replied, a slow grin sliding over his lips as he let his other eye open and his consciousness acclimate to the waking world. No one called Sauron by that name anymore. He had stopped being ‘Admirable’ long ago. Melkor, though, called him by the name he took when the two first met, the first title given to the dreadful and beautiful Lieutenant of Angband. </p><p>Sauron’s eyes filled with incredulous tears and he lowered his body to the mattress, lying beside his Lord and reaching out with both hands to hold the ashen face between his palms. Melkor chuckled lightly at the attention and lifted one hand to hold one of Sauron’s as it pressed to his face. </p><p>Melkor watched his Maia cautiously, trying to understand the tears. Despite his inability to comprehend this kind of raw emotion, he was nevertheless sensitive to Sauron’s affections and acknowledged them the best he could. </p><p>“It has been too long.” Melkor’s voice rumbled from his chest like the promise of a coming earthquake. “I felt your call.” </p><p>Sauron sniffled a little and scooted his body habitually toward the warmth of Melkor’s in a desperate effort to close the distance. </p><p>“500 years,” Sauron whispered, sliding his hands upward to tangle his fingers in his Lord’s hair. “You- I can’t believe you’re here..” </p><p>Melkor shook his head a bit and released Sauron’s hand to reach out around the Maia’s waist. “I cannot stay long. Utumno needs its Lord.” He grinned lazily and leaned his head forward into Mairon’s grip. “But in this moment, my Lieutenant needs his Lord more.” </p><p>Sauron’s eyes flooded with helpless tears and he nodded a little, lifting one leg and catching the back of his calf on Melkor’s hip in order to swing his body over into a straddling position. Melkor lay back with his hands on Sauron’s waist and looked up at him with that loving but curious gaze he reserved for gazing upon the Maia. Sauron had seen that terrible, fearsome face contort into wicked expressions as it watched the Enemy’s black machinations come to pass, as he tortured his enemies, and as he succeeded in fooling yet another of Eru’s helpless, stupid children. Never before had that face cast such love on another being than Sauron, however. He never would. </p><p>Hesitantly, Sauron leaned downward toward his Vala’s lips, but his brief hesitation was interrupted by Melkor’s eager kiss. He tasted just as Sauron remembered: like the smoke of a long-burning fire. Melkor slid one hand up his partner’s back, drawing goosebumps as it traveled from the narrow hip, over the silken fabric of Mairon’s robe, and finally landed in a firm but gentle fist in the Maia’s orange-red hair. Sauron returned the touch with eager shivers and more urgent kisses, barely breaking away from his Lord’s mouth before pressing another to his lips like a man starved. Melkor’s unoccupied hand grasped Sauron’s thin, pale thigh and squeezed tightly, leaving dark blue bruises that would heal in no time at all, but the contact coaxed a gasp from the Maia’s throat: more beautiful than the Song he had sung at the beginning of Eru’s creation. Melkor broke the kiss and lifted his dark eyes to his Lieutenant’s golden ones, keeping him locked in that steady and complete eye contact that bound the two to each other. No words needed to transpire between them for the communication to ring as clear as if it had been shouted, and that knowledge brought a light smile to Sauron’s lips for the first time since the First Age began.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Continued fluff of Arda's darkest and sweetest Lords.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The guard in the room cleared his throat uncomfortably, an action he immediately regretted. Both of the Dark Lords snapped their attention to him with furrowed brows and immense dissatisfaction at being interrupted. Melkor lifted his hand as if to dispose of the guard, but Sauron placed his own upon it to halt his Lord’s rage. Instead, he summoned a palm of fire and hurled it at the guard who, knowing better than to flinch away, received it directly in the center of his face. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Leave us,” Sauron commanded, face curled into a snarl. “Your objections are not welcome here.” The guard hurried out of the room as he swatted at his head in an attempt to put the flames out, though they continued to singe his hairs and consume his skin despite best efforts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Melkor’s lips slid into a crooked grin. After all this time, his Maia had grown from a keen-eyed, ambitious apprentice into a ruthless tyrant, just as Melkor had hoped. When Sauron turned back to him, an apologetic expression on his beautiful face, Melkor sat up in bed and wrapped his arms around his Lieutenant’s thin waist to pull him closer. His nose nudged the robe open to allow for as many little, needful kisses as possible to land on that chest, all lean muscle and hard bone. He dragged his tongue upward, starting beneath the sternum and slowly tracing the center line of his body until he made a right turn at the collarbone to land in the crook of Sauron’s neck. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You have not been caring for yourself,” He murmured between kneading, laving kisses. His tongue worked in conjunction with his lips as if trying to come as close to consuming his partner as possible without doing any physical harm. This was a change that Sauron had affected upon his Vala: as Mairon learned to be hard and cruel, Melkor learned the value of a gentle touch. The Ainur could, of course, shift and change their physical forms at will, and the one straddling Melkor’s lap was in no way flawed or remotely imperfect. Keeping the same flawless appearance did cost effort, however, and it was clear that such a long period of solitude had led Sauron to place the maintenance of his Hröa at a lower priority. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The comment brought a fierce and angry blush to Sauron’s pale cheeks. From the first manifestation of this form, maintaining a beautiful Hröa was essential to maintaining his pride and his status, even before he had the responsibility of standing beside the Prime Dark Lord. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“My Lord...if you are displeased…” He closed his eyes and tried to summon an improved, healthier physique, though the effort was interrupted both by threatening tears and by Melkor’s hand cupping his jaw. Touches between the two Ainur had always been electric, alive with jolts of sensation, but this touch brought such relief to the frayed ends of Sauron’s deprived nerves that the tears spilled over. Melkor was on his mouth again before it could open to apologize for those tears. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Melkor enclosed Sauron in his arms and rolled the two of them over so he was hovering above the Maia’s smaller frame. The silk robe slipped almost liquidly off of Sauron’s shoulders but remained tied around his waist, revealing more alabaster flesh and the appearance of bone straining underneath skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Melkor spoke in a low, hushed voice as eminent but persistent as rushing water. “I am not displeased with you. I do not wish ill for my Lieutenant, however.” The Vala’s lips grazed Sauron’s again to punctuate the sentiment. “I need you strong and healthy. You must take the time to keep your Hröa well so it can serve you, and so you can serve me. Angband needs you </span>
  <em>
    <span>I need you.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>His last sentence was whispered, barely audible and more sensed than heard. A heavy, all-encompassing shiver rushed through Sauron’s Hröa as he absorbed the comment. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He needs me,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought, lips opening like an offering dish to the only deity he would ever worship. Melkor bit down on the other’s lower lip, sharp canines piercing the flesh just enough to mark his territory, though not enough to draw blood. That time would come, but not yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Vala snuck one arm up higher to cup the back of his Lieutenant’s head and his fingers combed into fiery hair to close in a firm but loving grip. As he kissed the anxiety from that gorgeous pink mouth, he let his tongue run over his partner’s lower lip both to communicate desire and to taste the softness that had always remained underneath the surface, no matter how far The Terrible strayed from The Admirable. Despite the cruelty embodied in his current role, despite the chaos and destruction and death brought into being by his thin hands, Mairon always remained beneath like a flower bud that bloomed beautifully, but only for his Vala.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sauron melted beneath his lover’s touch and arched his back in a desperate attempt to feel more of his Vala’s touch. Tiny shocks of lightning targeted the back of his neck underneath Melkor’s fingers and in the area occupied by his palm and he fell into a beautiful surrender with little effort. The Maia’s thighs parted to allow their Master closer, whether out of habit or desire, and Melkor chuckled lowly when he noticed. The hand on Sauron’s back slipped to one thigh and held it tightly as Melkor lightly dragged his claw-like nails back and forth between his Maia’s knee and hip. Tiny goosebumps rose along the flesh beneath those touches, and they quickly spread to the entire leg, then both legs, then to Sauron’s entire Hröa. Even the tiny fair hairs on his back stood on end to reach for a hint of their Master’s touch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a short period, the two rolled onto their sides and held a soft but longing eye contact, ink-black eyes gazing back into golden irises with pupils blown wide with devoted affection. Melkor held his Lieutenant’s head between his charred, charcoal hands and stroked one blushing cheek with his thumb. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Sauron opened his lips to speak, but it was Melkor’s voice that spoke first. </span>
  <span></span>
    <br/>
  
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You have kept Angband beautifully,” he praised. Sauron had always adored praise, especially from his Lord. “I would be interested in seeing your reconstruction projects.” Melkor never spoke in requests, only instructions. This was no different: a desire to tour the citadel and inspect how Sauron had kept it up. That being the case, the Vala would find no fault in it, even on closest examination. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I would be honored to show you my work,” Sauron murmured in response, biting his lip cautiously as he memorized the feeling of his Lord’s touch on his face. Melkor had said he would not be able to stay long, meaning each touch was even more temporary and sacred. He closed his eyes for a moment to commit that thumb on his cheek to memory down to what remained of his nearly-burned-off fingerprints. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once the golden eyes opened again, Melkor drew back and the two Ainur sat up, and removing their hands from each other was physically painful. Still, Melkor stood easily and shrugged back into his robes, which he manifested with a snap of his fingers. Sauron immediately missed the sight of the sculpted muscle of his back and the deeply scarred scratches carved into the flesh of his Vala’s broad shoulders. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In fact, this was a particularly unusual visit from the Black Enemy. The pair had been together for hours, but neither had taken the other in a feverish fit of lust. “My Lord,” Sauron asked, shyly pulling his robe back up over his shoulders, “Are you sure you would prefer to tour the fortress? Usually your appetites are more...carnal.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Melkor smirked and shrugged one shoulder, turning to face the bed and setting his hands on his hips. “There will be time for my usual appetites,” he assured. “You know I like to play with my food before I eat it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This comment deepened the flush on Sauron’s cheeks to a color so bright red it was nearly the same hue as his hair. Desire stirred in his low abdomen as he stood and smoothed out the covers - a submissive action he only took around Melkor, as such menial tasks were what the enslaved orcs were for - but he held his head high as if he was not terribly excited for the physical element of the visit. The Maia rounded the bed and, with a furtive glance to ensure Melkor was following, strode out into the halls. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pair fell easily into step despite the difference in lengths of their legs, a habit Sauron had developed in his years of service. It felt so right, so thoroughly complete, to be able to walk beside his Lord again. The corridors echoed harmoniously with the steps of two pairs of booted feet instead of the lonesome clacking of one. They entered the vast network of halls and Sauron turned his head to gaze at his Master. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Which project would you like to see first?” He asked, an eager expression taking the place of his previously bashful one. Sauron took the most pleasure, above anything else, in his achievements in organization and construction. Everything he built was always meticulous and perfectly constructed as if it had been planned by a master of construction and creation: because it had. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Melkor reached out one hand and clasped Mairon’s in it, lacing their fingers together. “The Nethermost Hall,” he answered with a squeeze of his hand. “I want to remember what it feels like to sit with my most trusted advisor at my right hand.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sauron squeezed his Vala’s hand back in return, then lifted their enlaced fingers to his lips and kissed one of Melkor’s knuckles. “Then you shall have it,” he murmured before eagerly leading his Lord down the corridor to the Great Hall. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>